Yesterday I went floating in a pool

you will think that this is no big deal, until I tell you that the last time I owned a bathing suit was 1997, when I went to Disney World with my friends after I graduated from high school. I still do not own a suit, and went floating in the pool wearing a skirt, my bra, underwear and a tank top. It did not matter, because it felt heavenly.

I never really learned how to swim: When my mom signed me up for lessons at the Y (at my insistence), I was ten years old, a slightly chubby brainiac that frequently still wore my hair in pigtails, played with School with her sisters and was completely useless without my glasses. Of course, the first thing they did was tell us to change, and to stow our personal gear - "This means glasses too!" - in the lockers. My best friend was also taking the class with me, and was kind enough to lead me out of the locker room and into the shallow end of the pool. To say that my vision without my glasses is hazy is a major understatement. I can see shapes - people sized blobs of mushed together colors, fuzzy colors with no defined edges. I could see my friend's face, if she was the one bobbing in the water next to me, but I couldn't have picked her out of the line of young bodies that floated around. We had our own secret game of Marco Polo going on, even before the lessons started.

And what an illuminating and educational lesson it was: A large man - the high school swim coach - came out of the locker room and sat in a lifeguard's chair. Then he threw a bunch of plastic rings into the pool and told us to go get them. "Dive if you want to, tiptoe over if you don't, but go down there and get them." End of lesson. I spent the entire time trying to see a darker blue blob at the bottom of the moving lighter blue blob, failing over and over again to retrieve my ring because A) it was at the bottom and I was at the top not knowing how to get to the bottom without drowning and B)the blob that I thought was a ring was in fact paint on the bottom of the pool, so I just wasted all my breath to get down there for nothing. For one hour every Friday for six weeks, my friend tried to drag me around to the location of a ring, I would claw my way down to get it, bob back up and then we'd hold on to the edge of the pool for dear life, waiting for the class to be over so we could go home. Between that and my uncle throwing me into a pond and telling me I'd pick it up once I was in the water, I figured I'd never be able to swim.

Eventually though, I put together the basics on my own - arms and legs both need to be moving, try rotating your head so you can breathe every now and then - but swimming will never be my forte.

But yesterday I waited until the sun went away and the shade covered the yard, after the kids had finished all of their major splashing and the adults had had their pool time as well. Then I slipped into the middle of my sister-in-law's pool, (to the shock of my brother in particular) laid on my back and floated. It was the most peaceful I've felt in a very long time, and I was reminded that I used to like the water (initial swimming experiences excluded). It's so quiet and calming, and honestly, my body feels so different in the water.

The weightlessness is part of it, sure: it's easier to move all the stiff and sore parts of me - they feel more connected to each other and less likely to rebel: It's almost as if I've got my dancer's body back - one that responds to the moves I want it to make automatically and with little protest. I'm still in pain, but it's just like someone turned it down a notch, and if I could've stayed in that water all day - every day - I would've.

I splashed around a little with Lil Girl (who is a fish), and floated as long as I could, but even though the pain had dimmed a bit, other issues were still making themselves known. I got a rash from either the chlorine or the sun, just one big patch of it on my thigh, who knows why (it's itchy as all get out today). And my pulse was hammering away the way it does when I try to stand up - being upright, even in water makes all the lovely blood pumping away slow down and my heart tries to speed it back up, and the ultimate conclusion to all that is that I pass out, which I really didn't want to do in the pool, so my peace was short lived. And the getting out reminded me of why it's been so long since I've been in a pool. Because all of that freedom and flowing stops as soon as I put my butt on the steps and try to scootch out... I'd rather live in the water forever than try to do that again.

Add in an unexpected breathing issue that popped up - Lil Girl kept making me go all the way under so she could show me her flips and wave and whatever. I forgot that I can't hold my breath very long anymore. (Hello: Asthma!) I had to use my inhaler twice yesterday, and today my lungs are wheezing and my chest feels like I got kicked by a mule. "Call the doctor" my mom suggested. "And say what," was my reply: "I held my breath too long and now I'm hurting?" Even I can't tell them that. It'll go away eventually, but it's another harsh reminder that everything I do has a price.

So it had it's drawbacks, but I'm not sure I wouldn't do it again. It was worth seeing Lil Girl with her goggles on and a mile wide smile. To float on my back and feel dainty and delicate and like nothing in the world could be heavy. To look up at the clouds and remember that the world is going to keep turning whether I'm participating or not. It was nice to participate, and since I have all week to recuperate, I'll deal with the consequences.

In the meantime, want to see a fish?

Let's talk a little

My mind lately seems to be going at about triple it's normal speed. Frantic, speed-brain, for some reason. It's strange, really, because things are relatively calm (or what passes for it in my family anyways), and yet I can't get my stupid brain to slow down long enough for me to grip on to anything. Or - alternately - I get hold of something and just can't let it go.

July started off OK - I even took the month off from doctors, because all the news was bad and painful and just more of the same and I couldn't think about it anymore. But of course it hasn't stopped me from thinking about it: At the very least though, by taking the time off, I couldn't be poked or prodded or asked stupid questions about it anymore.

And then my brother and sister-in-law took the kids to the Cape for a week, and were too lazy to drive them up for a few days before that, and all of the "good summer fun with the kids" I had planned to cram into my month (and my mind) instead turned into "days of doing nothing but sitting around thinking about my life." These days were not nearly as much fun as the ones I had anticipated. Left with entirely too much time to ponder at least two major family situations (one of which has blown over and another that continues on without any solution to be seen), my own non-improving health and relationships situations, and the fact that yesterday was the anniversary of my father's death (not to mention a very rude person who treated it as if, because my father and I did not get along, this anniversary should be pretty meaningless to me); it's been an unexpectedly emotional time. There's just all this stuff, and I feel like I need energy to sift through it, and I haven't got the energy - emotional or physical - that god gave a gnat, so it's all heavy lifting.

It's all heavy lifting.

And I don't, as usual, realize how heavy, really, until I sit here with my fingers tapping away trying to explain why I haven't posted anything lately, or taken pictures of the gorgeous kids or why I've signed up for at least three projects this summer that I haven't even begun to consider, let alone start. Until I sit here and let my fingers start talking, I let my brain rev itself up into a frenzy, and don't realize that not saying anything, not posting anything is part of the trouble.

So here's some more of what I've been toting around, this week particularly -

We've been attempting to clean out Nana's storage: Yes, 2 years is a long time to pay storage fees, but when you roll up that door and the smell - her smell - hits you, I would gladly pay for another two years just to not have to sit there and sift through the contents of her life while my uncle - who is clueless - natters on about "Goodwill" and "Junk" and my mother and aunt try to move as quickly as possible so we can just leave already, and all I want to do is sit there with a box of stuff opened around me and absorb it into my skin. I've been taking pictures and saving things from the scrap bin; trying to hold all my emotions in in case my mom needs to let hers out.

I'm in that tiny little hallway, with it's concrete floors and neon orange doors, watching as box after box after box comes out. When my uncle pops out one of the windows on my grandmother's dollhouse (they're plastic and pop back in), I bite my tongue and control my need to scream about how important it is to fix it Right Away! I watch my aunt take a box of china she shouldn't be lifting and wrap it up so clumsily that it's sure to be in pieces the next time we open the box, but I don't say anything: I just wait till she turns around and slide the box in my direction, re-wrap it when she heads out for a cigarette. When my mom opens a box with baby shoes in it - shoes that Nana had lovingly wrapped in tissue paper, for her 'baby' who died twenty years before she did - mom doesn't cry, so I don't cry.

See, I know that this stuff is not my Nana, and that - in all honesty - she couldn't really have cared about the majority of it: glasses that lived in cabinets, tea sets made of gold that never made it to the table, knickknacks from places she never traveled to, lots of things that said 'grandma' because stuff that said 'nana' was so much harder to find. She wouldn't mind if we tossed all that out, would actually have done it herself if she'd have thought about us having to do it now.

But I also know that there are memories to be found here - not just my memories, but everyones - and so I feel like I have to safeguard them - for my mom, who isn't thinking anything except "get me out of here"; for all the grandchildren who can't be in that dark little hallway with me, and for all the great grandchildren - here now and to come - who never got a chance to know just how awesome a lady they missed out on.

So I sit there, allergies acting all renegade and body too sore to take breaths, it seems, setting aside a porcelain cat for one sister, a rogue leprechaun for my brother, a picture of himself that my cousin has probably never seen. Some of this stuff means something to me, some of it doesn't but I'm determined not to let the "one thing" that somebody would have wanted get tossed in a box for Goodwill. I feel like the only person there capable of remembering that this isn't just stuff, it has value to someone, and they should at least have the chance to say "No, you can toss that" or "Oh my god, I totally remember this!" So I click the shutter on my camera again and again and again, hoping that I'm capturing the something somebody wants, before I repack the boxes and watch my uncle roll his eyes again.

It's just heavy lifting.

And I try to be gentle with myself, try to say: Even though it doesn't seem like right now is a busy time, you are doing a lot of work. But it doesn't always sink in, because part of my heavy lifting is the way I think about myself, the way I don't give myself credit for the things that I do, the way I beat up on myself for all the things I don't do. It's a tricky line, I think - to hold yourself accountable without tearing yourself apart. (At least it is for me.)

I read, somewhere, in a recent blog post of somebody's, that one of the rules to remember in blogging is that your blog is not your best friend. If you feel like you need to vent, pick up the phone, don't complain to your audience or they'll stop coming back. I think that's probably good advice, but I don't know that I can follow it. I appreciate it, honestly, with my whole heart, that you people come back time and again to read things like this, where my head is a spinning top and my heart feels cracked open.

I won't say that I don't have people in my life who would listen, if I started talking, because I do, but it's different to write it here, freer somehow. Saying what I need to say to get my head back on straight is a large part of what's kept me writing for so long at this blog, and - while it may be the reason I don't have a zillion followers - it's also part of the reason that I cherish the followers I do have.

So, now that I feel somewhat normal again, what's going on with you all? I know somebody has a new job (YAY Ms J!!!) and other people are dealing with their own brands of chaos (Hope the bed rest is going well, Laurie!). I hope that you're all enjoying your weekend, come what may, and I promise to write again soon. (And less emotionally jumbled, hopefully.)

Reading Round-up & Linkage!

Here are some Very Interesting Posts & Quotes I have read in the last little while. I thought I would share some accumulated wisdom, and if you have any to share, please feel free to post it in the comments:


Future Feminist Librarian-Activist has written a fabulous post about seeing parenting not as a project or a job, but as building a relationship with another person -

I say, just quit. Quit your job and go find a relationship. With that person who you're interested in being intimate with as they grow and discover the full strength of their humanity. Who knew this would be such a radical suggestion?

Kate Inglis, over at Sweet/Salty shares her wisdom on things NOT to say to others:

For the sake of humility, do this. Do not presume we influence our fates in a way that implies the failure of others to influence theirs. Let's respect change, either way, and do our best to walk towards it and accompany one another through it with dignity.

Havi, at The Fluent Self, has been talking about being stuck in the middle, (which is where I often feel I am languishing), and how to get unstuck. This line in particular struck home for me:

You meet yourself with love. Or: you meet your inability to meet yourself with love.

That second part? Is me all over. Which reminds me of this -

Sometimes I can hear my bones straining under the weight of all the lives I’m not living.

- Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, Jonathan Safran Foer

Hope you are all out living your lives today, if you've got something I should read, leave me a link!

Best shots - 2 for the price of 1

Here are two of my best shots from the last little while -

Here's Lil Girl, down at the beach. Since Auntie and sunlight are not friendly, we sat up under the bandstand and blew bubbles that floated down to the ocean. Then the kids collected shells and rocks, and we ate pizza and drank Shirley Temples. It was the very definition of a fine summer day.



And here's another recent favorite - (No Longer) Youngest Nephew, reading along with the Harry Potter and The Chamber of Secrets book on tape. I love this picture for so many reasons: The fact that he was voluntarily reading; The fact that he'd never used actual tapes before and I had to instruct him on how to flip it over and press play (even though it made me feel ancient); The fact that, since the spring, he's powered through three of the books, and he's as excited as I am about part one of The Deathly Hallows coming out in November. It's just an all around favorite.



So there are the two kids I'm spending most of my time with this summer; Don't forget to head over to Tracey's place to check out who she's spending her summer with, and the rest of the Best Shots.

It's been weeks and weeks,

actually probably closer to two plus months, since I've participated in My Best Shot Monday, but I'm planning on contributing tomorrow. Our new days with the kiddos mean I won't get a post up till after they leave, but I'm determined to post something. Hence this really useless post that only serves as motivation for me not to 'forget' or be 'too tired' to post tomorrow. Commit to an action publicly, they say, and you're more likely to follow through. I tend to agree, when it comes to myself, that if I haven't said "I will do...." then I can convince myself to just put in on hold indefinitely. So: Tomorrow a picture! Of something! Or someone! Let's all be surprised together. :gulp:

Points of order

Point the First - This weekend is a Harry Potter weekend on ABC Family. I am 31 years old, and I have already seen all of the Harry Potter movies, multiple times. I own them, and could watch them without commercials, whenever I so chose.... I will still have channel 26 on in the background for the next three days, and may or may not be reciting lines as I go from one room to the other. (Am. Can't help it: "Even in the wizarding world hearing voices isn't a good sign".) My sister, the one who reads my blog (at least I think she still does: it isn't as if I've been writing all that much lately), said the other day that she thought maybe she was "over" the Harry Potter movies, or something similar to that. I, on the other hand, am trying to convince one of my sisters - any sister, really - that we have to go to the midnight show of the next movie (and maybe the last one too). I've also watched the trailer for The Deathly Hallows Pt1 approximately 14 times. I am pretty sure I will be heartbroken when all the movies are finally out and there are no more new ones to wait for: I was with the books. ("The Boy Who Lived, Come To Die.")

Point the Second - Since this is the Summer Of No Whining, I am only going to briefly mention that it is quite hot in the northeast at this present time. That's all - it is quite hot, no additional comment necessary.

Point the Third - Tomorrow I am going to try scrapbooking, for the first time in many, many (too many) months. I am quite far behind, and know I will spend a great deal of the day reorganizing my equipment and stock and stuff, before I will get to any actual creating. That is my least favorite part, because every time I think I have it all sorted out, I buy something else that there is no spot for, and then I have to start all over again. (And other times, I am too exhausted to do this organizing, so I fall further and further behind.) But I do have about 10-15 ideas on my scrap list, so if I get to the point where I can start, I have some good beginnings to work from.

Point the Fourth - I have no point the fourth besides: Have a great weekend, everybody.

Oh - and Point the Fifth: Congratulations to Ms. Janice on her brand new job! We knew you would find something, and that you'll be awesome at it! Best of Luck, chica!

I know the internet doesn't care

about the heat, but my body does. Other things it cares about that I would rather it didn't: the smell of food cooking in neighbor's yards; the smell of photos that have been living in a smoking house for 30 years; the smell of low tide, over a mile away; any smells, ever, in my immediate vicinity; our new summer schedule with the kids (MWF); the damn sun; every movement I have to make; about a thousand other things.


I find that I am easily, easily frustrated right now, and I hate it: I feel whiny and petulant and ungrateful. Nothing is horrifically wrong - nothing new is happening, and yet, the fact that my face isn't better, the fact that I'm too exhausted to help the kids check things off our "Stuff we want to do this summer" checklist, the fact that the incessant humming drone of the air conditioner is driving me batty - it's all making me feel cranky.

We don't have the kiddos till Friday this week, since their parents have some vacation days this week, and so I've little distraction from my crankiness, and that makes me feel even more ridiculous, because I'm depending on a 10 year old and a 4 year old to distract me. They are a great distraction, though...

You wouldn't know it by this post, but we've had to declare this the Summer of No Whining at our house, because Lil Girl is smack in the middle of a very whiny phase. (Says the woman who just whine-typed for five minutes straight. Does it count if it's on the internet?) She's catching on pretty quickly - since we can't hear whining, she doesn't get what she wants, so she changes her strategies swiftly.

Aside from the whining - and fights over who gets to sit where in the car that I remember all too well from my own childhood, and NOW I get why we all eventually had assigned seats - they've been great so far. They usually are, but now that they're getting older, we're trying to schedule more outings... having them (and us) all cooped up in the house all day everyday is just asking for trouble.

Last week I sat on the bandstand at the beach while Mum and the children wandered around looking for shells and rocks (They brought home quite the collection). We watched planes come in (Logan's right past the beach), had lunch, blew bubbles, and decided to come back for ice cream next time.


It was a pretty great day.

I was going to add a "but" to that last sentence, but I'd rather not: No more whining. Besides, it was a pretty great day, and I need to remember that part, let the rest of it all go. Let the Summer of No Whining commence, and help me to remember that it applies to grown ups and not just four-year-olds.

From the Random Files in my brain

Here's an interesting article about "dystopian fatigue". The author discusses her need for happier slanted movies and TV shows, leaving her looking for a little Glee or a Modern Family to brighten up her viewing habits. I agree with much of what she's saying, and hope that programmers are listening - I am so far behind on the heavier things that are sitting in my DVR, but I watched ABC's Comedy Wednesdays live, every week. (Except for Cougartown, which I refuse to watch because the title makes me want to puke.)

That said, I also just read a fabulous dystopian YA book that I can highly recommend - The Forest of Hands and Teeth by Carrie Ryan. It's gripping and moving, and I read it in an hour and a half, and am going to read it again, with post it flags and pencil at the ready, as soon as I can get my hands on the sequel. I chose it based on some great reviews, so I know it's not exactly an unknown book, but if you haven't read it, then you are missing out on something special. There were parts of this book that were ridiculously difficult to read, which I know some people shy away from, but, for me, it just shows what an exceptional writer the author truly is. Set in a far distant and horrifically frightening future, it could have been one of those books that was just a good read, but doesn't feel likely or truthful. Exactly the opposite is true - this book is REAL, zombies or no - and makes me want to gobble up anything else Carrie Ryan has written.

Bits and pieces, like I said.

33 days post op,

and I am starting to finally feel like I might actually be a human-type person again. I'm not springing into cartwheels, or feeling the magical special cure that I had, deep down, obviously, been hoping for, but I no longer feel as if someone decided to whack me in the face with a mallet, while at the same time letting some sort of giant lizard claw its way down my throat. You can imagine that this is a bit of a relief.

I managed to catch, in these 33 days, at least one sinus infection (either inadequately quashed the first time and capable of rebounding, or a party-bug who invited a friend over; impossible to tell) and a case of thrush that made me want to rip my tongue out and use sandpaper on it. Thankfully, the thrush has cleared up, and the infection(s) are on their way out as well. (She says, trying not to jinx herself this time.)

So I'm going to talk a little bit about a couple of things now, and I'm going to warn you that the very first thing I'm going to talk about is exceedingly gross. As in "Are you really about to tell the internet that...?" level gross. But here is where I talk about things that I can't discuss in real life/make my family understand, and so, you lovelies have a bit of forewarning that you might want to skip item #1.

Item #1: Every week since my surgery (and twice the first week immediately following the surgery), I have had to go to the ENT surgeon for a check in. During these check ins, he pokes at my face a little bit, looks up my nose, down my throat and in my ears - in short, all the things you expect the ENT to do. And then things take a dramatic turn for the worse, and I break out in the kind of flop sweat usually only experienced when the dentist turns around with that huge needle in his hand. Luckily, the ENT does not start poking me with needles, but, rather unluckily, he instead decides that now is the time to insert things up my nose.

UP my NOSE, people. My very tender, and much abused nose. First, he sprays a little numbing stuff, which is about as useful as tap water would be, and then he uses a long thin strip of cotton ball, doused in decongestants, and his looooooong metal pliers, and he stuffs the cotton ball up my nostrils. He leaves it there for a minute and disappears behind me, while the medicinal tasting decongestant drips out of my nose and down the back of my throat.

The first time this happened, I was a little bit shocked: I assumed that when he said he was going to use a decongestant, that he meant a nasal spray. And that was going to be bad enough, because my nose was already swollen and sore, and now he was going to spray stuff up there? Bah. So I was sitting there all shocked and drippy, waiting for him to take this gross stuff out of my nose when, all of the sudden, there's an unexpected noise behind me. A mechanical noise, a little hum that is entirely out of place. And then things go way downhill, way too fast.

Because the mechanical humming noise is coming from some sort of vacuum, not unlike an elongated, metal version of the doohickey that the dentist uses to suck spit out of your mouth during a cleaning, and the ENT is telling me that this damn thing is going up my nose to "clean out what's left."

Are you freaking kidding me??? This was not mentioned during the numerous pre-op discussions we had about surgery and aftercare; This was not mentioned in my aftercare instructions; This was not mentioned anytime during the previous 15 minutes I've been sitting here talking to you: NOW you are telling me, as you approach me with that goddamn thing, that you're going to suck stuff out of my sinuses? I am so not on board with this.

But, what choice did I have, really, since this is part of the after care - I'm going to go through all the pain of the surgery, and then have it be a waste because I didn't do the necessary follow up? I don't think so. How bad can it be, really?

Oh, it can be really, really bad. *I should put a disclaimer here that this was my experience, and the whole sucking out of sinuses might not be a big deal for other people: I can't really say. Except for another guy who was having the same surgery/procedure done on my first post-op visit who yelled really loudly from inside the room while I was waiting for my appointment, so he obviously didn't enjoy it either (if only I had known why he was yelling before I went in...). I can only say, that for me? It was a gigantic deal. Not just because I was already in a lot of pain, although I was, but because, to me, it feels like drowning.

The sensation of not being able to breathe through your noise is bad enough, but you add in the forced pressure of that little vacuum, and the fact that you can feel it not just in your sinuses and nose, but in the back of your throat? And it adds up to a completely overwhelming and painful experience. I cried, the first time, and (Mum told me later) was also, from the waiting room, quite audible in my distress. I cried the second and third times too, and I'm not even the tiniest bit embarrassed by that fact. (It was a little bit less traumatic the last two times, thankfully.)

It hurt, and I am already hurting enough.

But it was the panic that it caused me that was most distressing... the doctor actually told me to "breathe through your mouth" (as if I had any other options) "or you're going to have a panic attack". That is because you are cutting off my air supply, and my body, for some reason thinks this is a bad idea. He also appeared shocked that I would find this so upsetting, only adding to my impression of him as completely out of touch with reality ("7-10 days and you'll be good as new!"; "No patient has ever had a sinus infection so soon, post-op: are you sure that's what it is?"; "You should chew more gum to help stretch those muscles, did I forget to tell you that?").

The only good news is that I now don't have to go back for another month, baring additional issues, and that time, he may not even have to use the vacuum. Fingers crossed! End of totally disgusting and barbaric Item #1.

Item #2 - I have missed out on a lot of things in the course of the 33 days: a cousin's wedding (which apparently included much celebrating), my birthday, a college reunion I wasn't going to go to anyways (but I would've liked to make the my-girls dinner pre-party), Lil Girl's end of school celebration, No Longer Youngest Nephew's school report (which I have never been invited to before :( ), and more than a bit of family drama that I'm still trying to catch up with. Everybody in my family had issues during this period, and I feel like I am a page or two behind on the stories, which is a feeling I truly hate. I also feel like this lag in my understanding of things has caused new drama, which I have to figure out how to fix, but can't till my brain is back at full power, which sucks. This is one of the things I tried to factor into my decision to have the surgery - knowing I would be so far behind/out of the loop, and trying to make it be ok, but I absolutely hate not being there for people when they need me (and we can talk about why I don't expect people to show up for me when I need them some other time, thank you very much). It has been hard, playing catch up, apologizing for the gaps and lapses, the gaffs and digs I've delivered unknowingly. Or trying to, at least.

But at the same time, I'm trying to be realistic about this - I had the right to do something that, hopefully, is going to lead to a real improvement in my health. It wasn't selfish to do this, even if I don't get the outcome I wanted. Or, if it is selfish, only in a good way. This is one of the things I have decided to work on, about myself - that I don't cut myself enough slack about important things. Yes, it is vital to be someone that my family and friends can depend on, and it stinks when my health issues get in the way of that. But that doesn't mean it's not something that people should try to understand, and that doesn't mean it's something I should feel badly for (at least, not excessively so). So, I'm working on that. It is much harder done than said.

Item #3 I would just like to state, for the record, that I am through thinking about my weight. Because I ate nothing but soup broth and mashed potatoes, slush, bananas, and jello for, let's say 27 days, discounting the first two days (when I could only eat slush), and the last four (when I've been expanding into other, actually needs to be chewed types of food). And I think I gained weight, to be honest with you. So if I can't lose weight on three weeks of vegetarian, non-chewable mush, then I'm just not going to lose weight. So I better figure out how to like the size I am right now.

I think that's about it for now, before this post turns into a novel. I'll be back pretty soon (certainly more frequently now), and we'll talk about something completely different, won't that be nice? Please also know that I am, slowly but surely, catching up with my Google Reader (yay: The Collective is back in my Google Reader!), but it's taking me a while. If you have clicked through a new comment of mine on an older post of yours, welcome! Sorry to be so late to the party! I'm getting there.

Some more off-topic, lighthearted linkage to share, since I'm still not feeling awesome. As I was sifting through my Google Reader, I found a link I thought I'd share. These are from a pretty hysterical site called "Dear Girls Above Me", and are a couple of my favorite lines from a downstairs neighbor to the ditzy girls upstairs.

Dear Girls Above Me,

I’m sorry you sprained your ankle and “aren’t hot anymore” but Chanel crutches don’t exist…yet. Thanks for another golden idea. 6/1/10

Last night u held something called a ‘trash mag partaaay’. Is that like a book club for the illiterate? 3/2/10

Our building doesn’t have a ghost “trapped in the walls on Thurs & Fri.” Its just street cleaning. 2/18/10

Just because a guy looked at you funny on the street, doesn’t mean you’re living in The Truman Show" 1/13/10

Well, so far,

this operation has not been as big a success in the whole "preventing multiple infections" genre as I might have hoped. I'm on my way back from my second infection since the surgeries, all though I will say that (so far, knock wood, cross fingers) the duration of this infection is hopefully of an atypically (for me) short duration. That is the hope anyways.

I've been pissed off because I told Lil Girl's parents to keep her at home last week when she was sick (which I hate to do) and I specifically did not go to my cousin's wedding this weekend because I was trying to take the safe road and keep myself away from germs and rest up and recover. And then, by Monday morning, I was sick as a dog. Again. So it really didn't matter that I didn't do the things I wanted to do; I got sick anyways. Realistically, I know that there wasn't a connection, but still: pissed.

I am recovering, though: my voice was coming back before I coughed it away this week, and my face wasn't as painful as it had been (before it took on it's new infection throbbing). One strangely unanticipated side effect from my septum repair is this odd tingling in my front teeth/roof of my mouth. The doc says this is because the nerve that runs there begins at the base of my nose, and I say it would've been nice if he had mentioned that before the surgery, but since it's supposed to go away, I'll just keep spraying Chloraseptic on it and drooling like I just got "woot canal".

I can't really judge how healed I might be, what with the new issues, but I'm working through a course of antibiotics (and got back from yet another horrid visit with the surgeon), so hopefully, by this time next week I'll be doing better and will be able to say "I'm healing" without all the caveats. Thanks for your support, in the meantime.

I do have a lot of things I want to do this summer, so keep fingers crossed that this is the END of summer infections for me.

Took me a while

but I'm finally posting to let you all know that the surgery went well, and I am recuperating. It is a process, which I hate (I'm much more in the mood for a recovery of the 'flip a switch' variety), but since I'm finally seeing/feeling signs of progress, I suppose it'll do.

I will say that it was a much more painful prospect than I had prepared myself for, the probable cause of which includes me getting an infection, and thrush, and being hideously nauseous to the point of dry heaves, and not realizing that this was not just a normal post-op situation, and trying to 'push through' it like a big dope. But, now it is starting to get better, and today I ate noodles (my first meal other than mashed potatoes, slush, jello or soup broth), so I know it must be improving.

The pain meds are killer, in that I find myself constantly loopy: Today is my first day back on the computer, and I have spent an hour and a half writing the three paragraphs you see here in the hopes that they will be logical and legible. I do not like this sort of high life, and am trying to cut back on the pain meds as much as possible, so that I can function.

Worst of all, probably, is the fatigue. This is not unexpected either, since the CFIDS makes exhaustion my constant companion, but I always forget how much energy recovering from illness/stress/operations takes, and then am shocked when I can barely life my head from the pillow sometimes. We had two weeks without Lil Girl, and I think my incapacity has shocked her too, now, which I hate. I don't like for people to see how weak I can get, and for her to see it (because I see that it worries her) makes me want to cry.

Or punch things. If I had any energy to punch things, but I can't cry because Did you know? That crying? After sinus surgery? Will HURT??? Well it will: Trust me.

So there's the update: Am doing better. Would not make this decision again if I had it to do over (but should probably reserve judgement until I see if it actually helps things). Need a large, large nap. And less woogy drugs. Miss you all, and will try to check in again really soon.


Love, NTE

O...K: that's different

Here are a couple more things that have caught my eye (via my Google Reader):

I don't care much for Russel Crowe, but I kinda have a crush on Scott Grimes, from way back in Critters, so I thought this was cute.

If you are not reading Sleep Talking Man, you are really missing out on some high quality, English-accented cussing. While asleep.

I want:

Some things to keep us busy

Since I don't know when I'll be posting next, I've got a couple of random posts in the queue to share... Mostly stuff that's popped up in my Google Reader that I think you should be aware of. The first is the latest batch of MLIAs that have caught my attention:

I'm a student teacher for a kindergarten class at a local elementary school, and today the lesson plan was about honesty, so the head teacher asked one of our students, "George Washington not only chopped down his father's cherry tree, but also admitted it. Why do you think that his father didn't punish him?" The student replied, "Because George still had the axe in his hand." That was epic. MILA

Old aunts used to come up to me at weddings, poke me in the ribs and giggle, telling me, "You're next." They stopped after I started doing the same thing to them at funerals. MLIA.

Today in class, my professor had stapled McDonalds applications to the tests of all the people who failed. MLIA.

Today we had silent reading time in my sophomore english class. Ten minutes it, I notice that nobody else was reading and the entire class was staring at me. I was then informed that when I read silently, I'm really reading out loud with accents, facial expressions, and different voices for each character. My teacher has decided that we will no longer have silent reading time, and I have been volunteered to host "story-time" for the first 30 minutes of each class. MLIA

In my Ecology class I sit in front of this guy whom never talks. ON this particular day he was staring at the fish tank. Then he looked up at me said said with a serious face. "you think i would get in trouble if I slapped the teacher with that fish?" MLIA.

Today, I was on a flight. One of the three flight attendents said before taking off, "Hello, I'm Cindy, I'll be one of your flight attendents today. The others serving you are my ex-husband, Steve, and his new wife, Becky. We are going to turn the lights off now because Steve looks so much better in the dark. Have a nice flight!" I could not stop laughing. MLIA.

Today I walked into a horrid break up, I was really upset for the girlfriend when the boyfriend said "Im dumping you because Im too good for you." But I couldnt stop smiling when she replied, "I'd like to see things from your point of view but I can't seem to get my head that far up my ass." Whoever you are, I salute you. MLIA.

Today, I was in my American History class, and the teacher was auctioning donuts to prove a point. The bidding was up to sixteen dollars for a dozen when one guy yells "My eternal soul." To which the teacher responded, "I don't think you understand that I'm looking for something worth more than sixteen dollars." Not only is he now my favorite teacher, he also just earned a spot amongst my hall of fame of awesome people. MLIA

Today, I had to sell chocolate bars for my school club. Instead of calling them chocolate bars I called them Dementor Bars with the slogan, "Your best deference against Dementors!". I was the top seller. MLIA

Today in class we were watching the 6th Harry Potter movie when it came to the part where everyone raises there wands cuz Dumbledore died my whole class raised there pencils including the teacher who looked like she was going to cry and my best friend had the most serious face ever. i love my class MLIA


Today my mom was reading through my 13 year old sisters disclosure document for one of her classes. One part of the document asks parents to tell the teacher a little bit about their child. My mom proudly wrote, "Paisley believes she is preparing for the Zombie Apocalypse and spends her extra time building tunnels from our house to Costco, Wal-Mart, and Home Depot so she will be fully prepared." MLIA.

Last year, a girl I babysit was graduating from preschool. When up on stage, they asked her what she wanted to be when she grew up, and with a smile on her face she told the whole audience she wanted to work at Mcdonald's. After the presentation was over, her mom asked her if that was really what she wanted to do and she replied in all seriousness "No, I really want to be a paleontologist but I just wanted to see the look on your face!" She was 3 at the time. I was proud. MLIA


Well, I hope those gave you some chuckles. I hope to be back soon, but enjoy the filler (entertaining filler! I promise!) in the meantime.

Reasons to cancel the surgery

(via my screwed up, please let me cancel the surgery! brain)

- Because the Lost series finale is on Sunday, and it is like a total pop culture moment (that I will be totally out of it for). Also, it will make me cry, and my face will probably hurt too much for crying.

- Because 6:30 is just too damn early in the morning.

- Because I have been availing myself of Dr. Google, and neither of us are pleased with what we see there.

- Because my throat isn't even hurting right now, and that is ridiculously rare! (Also: Do not currently have sinus infection! This is beyond rare... and should be appreciated.)

- Because how the hell am I going to take my regular meds? (Note to self: call tomorrow and see if there is liquid Lyrica.)

- Because... I don't wanna do it?


No: The surgery is set (fingers crossed, and barring any news from the pre-op people who still haven't called me), for 7:30 on Friday morning. I'm the first one in, which means I should also be the first one out. Which is good, because waiting is not my strong suit. All those people who comment on my 'patience' have never had to sit in a hospital waiting room with me while my mind buzzes ahead at 732 miles an hour. (Actually, some of them have, but usually I am good at hiding the buzz from people who aren't really paying attention.)

Of course, I am now coming up with a zillion different reasons why I should not let them cut open my nose or tear out the little bumps in the back of my throat, but I realize those are just my little anxieties popping up, and I try to pop them right back down. It's like one of those Whack-a-mole games: Up - Bam! - back down. Back UP - Bam! - back Down. I just have to keep bopping them on the head long enough to get to the hospital on Friday morning, at which point Mum will make me do it whether I want to or not, because she had to leave the house at 5:45 in the fricking morning.

Although I realize that it's not - in all likelihood - a life altering procedure, I'm pretty nervous about the whole thing (in case my endless blathering on about it here hasn't made that pretty obvious), but only because ... well, if you've been reading any of the blathering over the last 4-5 years, then you know why. Because medical science and NTE's body are not friends. Because whatever reaction you say it is impossible to have, then that is the reaction I will have. Because I'm in a place right now that isn't horrid and unlivable, and I am loathe to poke the bear and wind up there. Because if I wasn't nervous, at this point in my life, with this body and all of my experiences, then I would have to be pretty ignorant.

I know there are lots of people - somewhere in the midst of all those Temporarily Able Bodied people we people with disabilities talk about - that there are people who actually get up in the morning and never give a second thought to whether or not their body will respond in the way it ought. Who never have to second (third, fourth, fifth) guess a doctor's recommendation, or worry that things might not work out for them. I don't remember it, exactly: That ignorant feeling of being in control of my own body and what it was capable of, but I know that I am not one of those people anymore.

Back when I was dancing, there came a point, in the year or two right before I got sick, where I was constantly twisting my ankles. I must have sprained the right one 4 times in the course of a year and a half. And I mean seriously sprained - and even a slight fracture once. But I was 13, 14, 15, and it meant nothing - a week, two weeks, and I would be back dancing again, good as new. It honestly didn't occur to me that there could be any other outcome.

I was more fearless then: If I sprained something now, I would probably never attempt that activity again... I avoid things that cause even the most minor of injuries, go out of my way to avoid even the tiniest bit of extra pain.

Because here's the thing: Being in pain changes who you are. It changes how you see the world, how you fit into the world, how you interact with the world. Everything is a risk now. Opening my eyes, rolling over, tying my shoe. It's all a big deal, it's all a potential threat. And that's a horrible way to live, so I suppress it as much as I can. I don't overthink the little things (at least I try not to). I try to offset the extra neck tension I'll get from sitting at the table for dinner with a little extra ice pack time, or pencil in a hot shower because I decided to sit on the floor with little girl today.

You figure most things out, because you have to live.

But asking for extra pain? Going into something that is going to hurt, no matter what - even knowing that it's probably essential in the long run, well that's just incredibly risky to me. Because I can't assume that it's going to be fine, and I can't pretend that the extra pain - and oh, boy, does everybody agree that there's going to be extra pain - isn't almost a dealbreaker for me. And I shouldn't have to pretend, but in real life, I do.

The number of people - related to me, who have been witness to my illness from the beginning people - who have played oppression Olympics with me ("It's not as if it's a tumor their taking out/you're having chemo/you're losing something important" or have asked me what the "big deal is - you'll get to have tons of ice cream"? Is frustratingly high.

"But what are your other choices?" they ask. "You're going to keep getting sick right? So just let them do the little snip here, little poke there --- maybe get your tummy tucked or your boobs shrunk a little while you're under, ha ha --- and then it'll be fine" they say. (And no: I'm not talking about you, who was actually thinking about how combining surgeries would be helpful re: not having to do anesthesia twice. I'm talking about the more thoughtless among us).

Right, because A) This is totally a joke to me. and B)You're not the one who has to live in my body, in my level of pain, now or then. So you can't really tell me whether or not it's a big deal. You just have to take my word for it - this is a big deal. I know it's not cancer or whatever the hell you think would be a big enough reason for me to worry, but I'm still worried.

Let me just say this again: Even if everything goes absolutely 100% as it should, by the book, perfect: This is still going to be a big deal for me.

Because all of those little sad faces that they give you in the ER so you can point out your pain? None of them is going to cover me anymore. Because I am already at the saddest face, I am already as high as the numbers will go, and now I'm volunteering for more: That is a hell of a big deal.

And I realize, as I am trying to find a conclusion to this very wandering post, that nobody who needs to read it will read it, because they don't know it's here. (Thank god!) But that maybe just writing it was the point, because all of the sudden I don't feel so ridiculous about being completely stressed out about this - It is a Big Deal for me, and it's something that I don't have to apologize for being a bit anxious about. So if I want to brainstorm reasons to back out of it, knowing that I won't actually back out of it, so be it.

Now, somebody give me a really good one, because "getting all the ice cream I want" is no longer on the pro side of the list: I'm an adult, and if I want ice cream, I will damn well eat it, surgery or no surgery.

Maybe I'll just add "because I'd rather go to Dairy Queen" to the list...

So I'm sitting here

at quarter to three in the morning, after playing Family Feud on Facebook, and browsing on Etsy long enough to add a whole new page of favorite things, and typing up two long overdue, rambly and probably non-sensical e-mails, wondering what the hell I am going to do.

This surgery is on Friday, and - as of today - that is still a go. The liver issues seem to be under control (2nd set of liver tests = no problem, just like I suspected they would be), but I've got another round to go before I get the all-clear.

I do not like to be in limbo, and yet I seem to be spending an awful lot of time there.

So I am assuming that I am having the surgery on Friday, as in a week from today, and holy crap that is soon... which means I now have to figure out all of the things I need to do before Friday, in order to not have to worry about them after the surgery.

I've been stockpiling books (which I do anyways), and magazines that take little thought or effort. I've got a week or two worth of funny shows on my DVR that I specifically didn't watch, and a Netflix queue (instant and through mail) as long as my to-do list. I'm going to fill out all the paperwork for anything that might be due in week or two following the surgery - bills to be paid, mail to send, etc - today, and I'm saving the major clean up for Thursday, because I know I'll just mess everything up again anyways if I do it now.

I wanted to have a sleepover this weekend with No Longer Youngest Nephew, partly because I don't know when I'll be up to it again, and partly because I knew he'd be a great distraction, but it turns out he's got a Sunday baseball game, so (since I don't drive), that fell through. I've also invited College Roommate/Best Friend to come and visit, but she's usually weekend booked all the way through the end of the school year, so I'm not holding out much hope there either.

But I think if it's just me sitting here, things could get pretty dicey pretty quickly, so I'm just going to think of LOTS of things that need to be done between now and then, so I don't have time to obsess. Because obsessing is something I can be very good at, and it could lead to chickening out, which I am determined not to do, so, therefore (and, Off Topic: I really think the keyboard ought to have a Therefore symbol - maybe instead of the #... those three little circles in the shape of a triangle that came in so handy in freakin geometry, I could use those on my keyboard, just saying): Keeping Busy.

On the one hand, this is relatively minor surgery.

On the other hand, this is my body, which never reacts as the doctors say it 'should', and my face, which is already in enough pain, and myself, which also has enough pain and exhaustion to deal with, thank you very much... so this is the hand that will lead to the obsessing.

I'm trying to focus on that first hand instead. And this magical third hand that appeared out of nowhere to remind me that I will be under anesthesia, which means I will get some SLEEP. Real, actual, knock-me-out for a few hours sleep. The kind that my body has completely forgotten how to manufacture, and I will take whatever I can get. Artificially induced or not, I'm going to focus on the fact that a week from today, I will be taking a NAP. I know I cannot articulate exactly how awesome that will be, but let's just say that it almost makes me forget that they're going to be cutting out pieces of my body and sticking metal hooks up my nose. Almost.

In the meantime, I've got the itchy scratchies, but no actual energy to work them off, so I hope you'll excuse a few rambling blog posts, particularly if they're just serving as poor reminders to myself that this is not something to get all wimpy about.

Or about how I played Ms Pacman for the better part of two hours yesterday, and had over a million points because this was an online fake version of the game and when you ate the little 'turn the ghosts blue' pellets, the ghosts never changed back to their original colors unless you ate them, thus giving you the run of the board for ridiculously long periods of time. Ms. Pacman Champion, right here.

Where I've been

Nowhere exciting, unfortunately.

Just feeling a little bit more rundown than usual: Allergies and a spring cold - along with a birthday party, a baby shower, a double christening and a wedding shower - have left me feeling the full weight of the Fatigue part of Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. I'm still waiting to hear if my surgery is on or off - if it's on, it's scheduled for Next Friday, which - how the damn hell did the end of May get here so fast? I'm loving my new computer, which is quick and not-complaining and purple-ish and a little heavy but I am getting used to it. I am mostly doing mindless things, and have so many unread feeds in my Google Reader that I almost don't want to turn it on (and some days, I just don't). There is very little exciting news here - SisterCh moved in with her fiance, leaving me as the only child still at home, and that is not the most awesome feeling, let me tell you. I am weeks behind on phone calls, because every time I look at the phone I get a feeling of just "ugh" and then I roll over and read a book because I don't have to think of what to say next. I am very sorry if you are reading this and are one of those people I haven't called... I'm getting there, I promise. Poor BestFriend/College Roommate and I haven't seen each other since November, I think, and I keep seeing her - and her kids - Christmas presents in the corner and cringing, because it's mostly my fault that we haven't met up, and yet I just don't have enough umph to say "Come on over!"

And this post is very whiny, which I do not enjoy, so instead of keeping on in that vein, I'm going to say that Lil Girl told me the other day that I am "Beauteous", and I wanted to give her a pony. And that my cousin's twins (now 2 and almost a half years old) finally came over for the first time a few weeks ago, and it was amazing to see them running around (one with his feeding tube and all, the other avoiding the tube expertly), laughing, and seeing their mom laugh did me some good as well. And, finally, No Longer Youngest Nephew pitched in his first Little League game this week, and retired his side with no hits!

I'll be back soon, I hope: Just gotta think of something to say.

BADD 2010

In honor of Blogging Against Disabilism Day, here is my (long-promised and hopefully coherent) post on Oracle, superheroine extraordinaire:



For whatever reason, I was juiced about Halloween this past year: maybe it was the idea that we might, in our new house, have more than three trick-or-treaters, or maybe it was that I'd been feeling like crap and was looking for a reason to be excited - who knows?

Whatever the reason, I decided at the last minute to see if I could throw something together. And so, that Saturday morning, I was searching online with a (pretty great if I do say so myself) idea in mind: Oracle. DC Super heroine, former Batgirl, and wheelchair user extraordinaire. The best part is that since she's a behind the scenes kind of girl - at her most basic level, she's a computer genius who supplies Batman (and numerous other heroes/heroines) with the intelligence necessary to fight crime - she can wear whatever the hell she wants. Jeans, mostly. Sweatpants, sometimes. Excellent: I can handle sweatpants! Accessories? Laptop computer: Check. Bluetooth device: Check. Superintelligence: Easily faked. (Ok, yes she has red hair, but it was dark. And trick-or-treaters are little, so I decide to just pretend there.) So, although I did wish I had a shirt with a bat insignia on it, I figured I was set. What I didn't expect, while searching to make sure my mental picture of Oracle matched up with the reality, was how much abilism I would have to wade through in relation to the character of Oracle herself.

Now, before I get any further, let me just state, for the record, that I am absolutely a newcomer to the comic book world, and I have absolutely no experience with the fandom, the world building, the story arcs: I don't know if Oracle ever had to fight the Riddler, or if she battled Catwoman, or if, as a comment I wandered across suggested, she and Professor Xavier are getting it on in private - because people with disabilities only date other people with disabilities, don't ya know - : For the purposes of this discussion, I will gladly cede the point that I am NOT a comic book genius, and that there's a lot about the DC Universe that I don't know or understand. I am not even going to consider myself worthy of writing a critique of the character, or comic books in general, in regards to different forms of discrimination - the majority of this post is going to instead focus on the ablism inherent in the online discussions of Oracle - that is, the arguments over her fitness as a superheroine, her perceived uselessness when being "confined to a wheelchair", and the unapologetic ablist terminology & attitudes that were displayed in these various discussions.

To start with, there's a lot of argument about whether or not Barbara Gordon is a better character now (as Oracle) than she was as Batgirl, and I'm sure that's a valid discussion to have - which incarnation of a character is the best, why is it the best, etc. What I think are distinctly less valid are observations like -

...Tate comments, “It's ridiculous to think somebody wakes up thinking how lucky they are to be confined to a wheelchair, and yet the attitude around DC and among the fans is that Oracle is the better character over Batgirl because of her handicap. Rubbish. Batgirl has fought more crime and done more to aid Batman as Batgirl than she has as Oracle. Batgirl has saved Batman's life on numerous occasions. Oracle has not. Barbara in this incarnation is not a bad character, but she is not better because she no longer hunts the night in cape and cowl.

wikipedia

No: People with disabilities are not better because they're disabled. They're also not worse, either, and that certainly seems to be the implication here - Oracle is not as good as Batgirl, not as worthwhile, not as valuable. Her intellectual skills - genius hacker and supplier of crucial information - are not on par with the kicking and swooping and physicality that she exhibited as Batgirl. She "saved" Batman when she was Batgirl, but that information she provides is apparently not life saving enough. (Although I seem to remember at least one occassion that this was exactly the case.) The alliance building she did with the Justice League of America, the founding of the Birds of Prey (an all female superhero team), her photographic memory, and the fact that she remains a master of numerous martial arts (even though she is "confined" to her wheelchair) is just not 'life saving' enough?

Somebody probably should have told her she was just wasting everybody's time and getting in the way.

Then you can compare that attitude with this one -

James B. South's chapter "Barbara Gordon and Moral Perfectionism" in the 2004 book Superheroes and Philosophy analyzes how the changes in Barbara's life "from librarian to Batgirl to Oracle" drive her to pursue a higher self, illustrating the philosophical theory of moral perfectionism.

wikipedia

And here we get the ideal SuperCrip - able to "get past her bitterness" over being viciously attacked and to overcome the challenges that being "wheelchair bound" must present. But ablisim goes both ways: When you are attributing characteristics to a group of people because of their disabilities - whether those characteristics are negative or positive - you are using stereotypes and ignoring their real value as people. African Americans are not all good at basketball, women are not all bad drivers, and people with disabilities are not pure or without moral imperfections. See this excellent post for all the reasons why being a Supercrip is not only unrealistic, but damaging as well. (And yes, I don't need you all to point out to me that I am, in fact, discussing comic books, where the characters are supposed to be superheroes: What I'm talking about here is the denial of a person - or in this case a character -'s humanity based on a faulty system of beliefs. All I'm saying is that expecting her to just "get over" her attack, and that she will instead buck up & be an inspiration to all is not, in fact, a reasonable path for her character arch to take.)

There's also a large dose of disabilism to be found in the parts of Oracle's storyline which negate her disability completely - In the short lived television show based on Birds of Prey, (which was, incidentally, my first introduction to Oracle), the character is played by Dina Meyer, an able bodied actress. I'm sure the creators of the show would explain that by saying that they had to show Batgirl's story in flashbacks, or the inclusion of the inevitable storyline where she can once again 'miraculously' wiggle her toes, but instead of that being a reason for not using an actress with an actual physical disability, this is rather further proof that the ways individuals with disabilities are portrayed in the media are inadequate. In addition, in the comic books, there are times when Barbara Gordon's body is possessed, and those beings are able to "bypass her paralysis and make her run and fight like a normal person but when they leave her body her paralysis will return completely."

"Like a normal person," huh? That's awesome - There was some discussion revolving around the fact that she's probably "disappointed" when the person WHO POSSESSES HER leaves, because then she's back to being "crippled".

Seeing disability labeled as abnormal is not the only term I had an issue with: Articles, posts and comments were littered with the words handicap, crippled, immobile (although she's clearly mobile), forever confined to/stuck in a wheelchair, and a lot of talk about the fact that she's hindered (rather than empowered) by her chair. Terms that are not only not 'politically correct,' but harmful to the accurate portrayal of individuals with disabilities. There's also the idea that she's both useless and an invalid, and, of course, there's a lot of talk about Oracle being "cured".

The question of the cure is actually one of those areas where the intersectionality of ablism and sexism inherent in (but certainly not restricted to) comic books is made only too obvious:

Just to drive home the point that Barbara Gordon's crippling was sexist, a few years later Batman was also crippled. How long did he spend in a wheelchair? Oh, about a year, and then as a SUPERHERO and PROTAGONIST he was able to make a miraculous recovery. Because Batman is a MAN and a HERO. And Batgirl was disposable.

Comment onMyriad Issues by Rusty


So there's one double standard, in that ok: Yes, I will grant that Batman probably could figure out a lot of ways to 'cure' her disability, or that Barbara herself would probably, in the way of all superknowledgable superheroines, be able to come up with a pretty good idea of how to accomplish such a feat. But that doesn't mean she should be cured, or that she's any less vital of a character because she hasn't been cured. The discussions revolving around the idea of a cure are some of the most impassioned - people talk about how useless and ridiculous it is that Batgirl hasn't been cured yet, invalidating Oracle completely: If Barbara can only fight crime/be worthwhile/be important when she is Batgirl, then Oracle is a wasted character, nothing more than a "girl in a chair".

I am also largely setting aside the idea that her "crippling" by the Joker is considered by many to be one of the most anti-woman plot devices in the DC Universe (which is full of anti-women storylines, unfortunately), because I just don't know enough about it, having not yet read the issue myself, although I will point you in the direction of a very interesting discussion about Women in Refrigerators vs Dead Men Defrosting, (See Here .
I am going to mention this piece of information, however, because I think it says so much about how 'well-thought out' the creation of a well-rounded character with a disability really was:

Brian Bolland tells this little story in his recent book The Art Of Brian Bolland:

"Back in Northampton, Alan had to check with editor Len Wein how DC would feel about him crippling one of its key character, Batgirl. Len phoned back. His precise words are not printable here, but the gist of it was that it was okay. The Joker had, after all, to be shown to be a seriously nasty piece of work."

The words that Bolland is too much of a gentleman to reproduce, but which have been retold in various circles, were: "Cripple the bitch!"

And that pretty much sums up the attitude that allows female characters to continue to be mistreated in comics (at DC in particular, it seems).

Kate, Digital Eraser

Still, from such an offensive beginning, Oracle has become a favorite heroine for many. Even amidst all of the disturbing comments and discussions I was able to find online, there were a lot of positive things being said as well. Most readers described Oracle as invaluable, powerful, and just all around awesome. Some of them talked about how inspirational she is a character living with a disability without being too corny or 'movie of the week', and the writer who 'rescued' Barbara after her attack and gave her her own storyline seems to have a pretty impressive attitude about the whole thing, IMO:

We wanted her to cope with what had happened to her and becoming, in many ways, more effective as Oracle than she ever was as Batgirl. And we knew that others with disabilities might look at her and feel good reading about her...I don't think people 'dance around' her disabilities as they don't want to focus on them, but on her character. These shouldn't be stories about a disabled person; they are stories about a compelling fascinating character who HAPPENS to be in a wheelchair and I think that's correct. Barbara isn't her handicap; there's more to her than that.[41] ”

wikipedia

I was shocked by some of the dis/ablism I was confronted with as I wandered around looking for an Oracle action figure (you can see one here, if you're interested), but I probably shouldn't have been. It's not news to me that there are people who say they'd "rather be dead" than have to live "shackled to a chair"... I've met more than one of them in person, unfortunately. But there's a lot of good stuff out there too, a lot of positive feedback on a pretty unique character. I'm going to wrap this up with one last quote (originally intended to discuss sexism, but I think it works pretty well here too):

"Comics have always attracted intelligent people as fans, especially among women, and the idea of a superhero who uses her brains instead of her fists to defeat criminals is one that has deep attraction, especially with the rise of the Internet. Batgirl evolved from being a dilettante librarian to a tech-savvy geek girl, just in time for the Information Age. Her storytelling engine seems to constantly reflect the evolving role of women in society, and her popularity reflects the fact that comics are no longer just a boy's club.

GoodComics

I hope that as society continues to change, and comic books evolve as well, that the role of disabled characters is one that will continue moving in a more positive direction. Besides: A librarian turned techno-geek turned super-heroine? Tell me that's not the most awesome Halloween costume ever. (Actually, it was not: since nobody in my family reads comics, I spent the entire day trying to explain who Oracle was. Oh well, I still rocked that bluetooth.)
----------------------------------------------------------------------

Thanks for reading, and for participating in BADD. Don't forget to head over to the Goldfish's place for more fabulous posts!

Mark your calendars -

Next Saturday is the 5th Annual Blogging Against Disablism Day, hosted by Diary of a Goldfish. You can head over there to sign up, should you wish to participate... it's an all access blog event, so as long as you can think of something to write about abelism (which is the US preferred term, as opposed to disablism), you are more than welcome. Allies: all aboard!

I've participated since for the past 3 years (here are my 2007, 2008, & 2009 posts, if you're interested), and am always impressed by the quantity and quality of posts that get included. (Don't worry if it takes you a week to get through them all... trust me: they're worth it.)

The best news is that since BADD also happens to be falling on Free Comic Book Day, I've decided to finish my damn Oracle post from waaaaaaaaaaaay back in October! Because, honestly, it's been sitting in the draft file long enough, and I hope it says some pretty interesting things about ableism, sexism and how ingrained they are in our popular culture. (Of course, it may also suck, and many people will read it and say "huh?" but I'm hoping not.) Either way, I'm motivated to finish editing it and put it out there.

If you can think of something to say about abelism ... People using the word "retarded" really starting to piss you off? Notice someone totally disregarding an individual because of their disability and wish you had known what to say? Wonder if there even are any people with disabilities in your community (Spoiler Alert: There are), because you hardly ever see any? All of these things would be appropriate to talk about next Saturday! The more perspectives we get, the better off we all are.

...and then I disappeared for a little bit

Just plum wore-out, folks. Kiddos are on vacation (we had all four of them, plus SisterS at one point this week), my sinuses are not, and after two parties last weekend (one over an hour's drive away), I am feeling horrid. Just worn out. And Sore. (That should probably be in all caps, and bold, and italics, and underlined, and rainbow colored, just so it has enough emphasis.)

Good news is I'm typing this on my brand new Dell 'puter, which seems to like me a lot, which is nice. (Once I decided I couldn't afford the Mac, it made my decision/life a lot easier... and now it's so purty that how can I complain?)

Bad news is I can't think of anything to say right now (besides ouch), and so I'm just letting you all know I didn't disappear.


Am still alive. Just resting. (Or attempting to, anyways.)

Recently, I received an advocacy alert from one of my various CFS/ME groups, concerning the possible inclusion of CFS in the newest version of the DSM. The DSM - Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders - is the American Psychiatric Associations' guidebook when it comes to mental illnesses, and the idea that there would be a category under which CFS might (or could realistically) be grouped is terrifying. It's a huge step backwards in the fight for funding, understanding, treatment, and all of the other things patients with CFS often don't have the energy (or time, or resources) to continue to battle without end.

I took a while to craft a letter I felt managed to point out all of the issues that are inherent in such an inclusion, while also trying really hard not to abelist towards mental illnesses and their severity either: I really didn't want to say "Don't call us crazy!" and expect that that would be a worthwhile argument. It isn't - crazy is a word I'm trying to erase from my vocabulary, in the first place, but in the second, there's nothing worse about being mentally ill than there is about having any other form of chronic illness. So I didn't want my letter to make it seem as if I were saying, "Well, we have all these issues, but we're still better than that": Instead I wanted to make clear that having a classification that could include CFS (and, as you will see in my letter, just about any chronic illness) is a setback because it does not allow for a true understanding of our disease process - and that can have dire consequences. At least, that's the point I hope I was making... I'm open to (constructive) criticism, if you have any before Monday, which is the deadline for comments on this particular version of the diagnostic criteria.

I'm writing to express my concern about the possible inclusion of Chronic Fatigue Syndrome as a "functional somatic syndrome", under the newly created category of Complex Somatic Symptom Disorder in the DSM-V.

First, I take issue with the vague and almost universally applicable criteria under which the CSSD could be diagnosed. Symptoms like
"A belief in the medical seriousness of their symptoms despite evidence to the contrary"; "Normal bodily symptoms are viewed as threatening and harmful"; "High level of health-related anxiety; "A tendency to assume the worst about their health (catastrophizing)"; &"Health concerns assume a central role in their lives." are so ambiguous as to be useless. Under this criteria, I would say that ANY chronic illness could be included as a somatic disorder. If you have heart disease, your "health concerns" will - if you intend to survive - most likely assume a "central role" in your life, and many previously "normal" symptoms could now be considered as potential threats. If you are diagnosed with cancer or HIV, I'm going to assume that a certain amount of "catastrophizing" would take place - there have been numerous books written about how a diagnosis of such an illness is not a death sentence: Would there be a need for those books if people didn't automatically assume that certain illnesses could mean the worst for them?

Creating this new category is to dismiss the very real worries and concerns of ANY patient, with ANY illness: It fails to take into account that, when confronted by an illness you cannot predict, you may sometimes become discouraged, fear the worst, or wonder if your newest ache or pain will be as devastating to your life as the previous one was. It takes what is human about a patient - the fact that they might make mistakes, or become anxious about something that is having an intense impact on their life - and turns it into something that is abnormal, something that should be seen as an illness. In so doing, you erase the humanity of all individuals with chronic illnesses.

If you fail to see that some of these behaviors - for example, having a high level of "health-related anxiety" - can, in fact, be positive coping mechanisms, you are invalidating the needs of a chronically ill patient. If a patient is proactive - if she sets a schedule for taking her meds, follows a nutritious diet, incorporates periods of rest and exercise as needed throughout the course of her day, & keeps up on the newest treatments and research regarding her disease, then yes: it is fair to say that "Health concerns are a central role in her life." However this is only to her benefit, and EXACTLY what doctors advise their chronically ill patients (and, with specific changes, their well patients) to do, no matter what their diagnosis might be. And yet, you plan to classify that as yet another symptom for a "disorder" that has no real medical definition. With "symptoms" so broadly and subjectively defined, the potential for misdiagnosis, and abuse towards patients whose illness are atypical, medically complicated, misunderstood, or rare is extremely high and frustratingly preventable...by simply excluding such a code, which would likely do more harm than good.

What other forms of harm, besides the very real danger of ignoring the physical deterioration of a patient due to misdiagnosis, might occur? Consider a recent study out of the Netherlands, which concluded that it is "unethical to treat patients with ME/CFS with ineffective, non-evidence-based and potentially harmful "rehabilitation therapies", such as Cognitive Behavior Therapy and Graded Exercise Therapy", two of the most widely used therapies for ME/CFS in the UK, and both recommended treatments for various current forms of somatoform disorders, or the fact that most SSRIs (which are also considered applicable treatments for somatoform disorders), tend not to be effective in treating CFS, and carry the risks of many serious side effects.

Somatiziation is the physical expression of psychological symptoms, and for the APA to claim, as experts and medical authorities, and with no room left for doubt, that the symptoms of CFS begin as psychological is not only to contradict the World Health Organization (which classifies it as neurological in basis), but also the US Centers for Disease Control (which stated, in 2006, that "There were no other factors, psychological or biological, that held up under thorough analysis"). It ignores the fact that in the UK ME/CFS patients have been banned from donating blood for over 20 years, that they were recently prevented from doing so in Canada, and that they are actively discouraged from doing so in the US. It also does not reflect a complete understanding of most of the current scientific research including viral implications, numerous biomarker studies; studies with immune system findings, neurological findings, CNS findings, genetic findings; and the complexity and interconnectivity of a disease like CFS. And it ignores the voices of the many experts and medical organizations focused on CFS research, including, but not limited to: Drs. Bell & Cheney, Dr. Komaroff, The Whittemore Peterson Institute, Dr. Klimas, & many others, who continue to search for the cause, treatment, and possible cures for this horrible disease.

I fail to see why, when biological science is stumped (or, in the case of CFS, more likely just ridiculously underfunded), putting the blame in the heads of patients is considered an acceptable solution. To include a definition of CSSD that could be applied to conditions like Chronic Fatigue Syndrome or Fibromyalgia is to forget the long - and embarrassing history - of unjust accusations of patients - or patient's families - "creating" their own illnesses - In the not too distant past, mothers were blamed for Autism, Type A personalities were blamed for causing ulcers, and both Multiple Sclerosis and Epilepsy have long been tainted by the incorrect assumption that they were caused by patient behavior.

Also important to note is the disconnect between medical science's understanding of men's bodies (and, therefore, diseases that are more likely to strike men) vs medical science's understanding of women's bodies (and, therefore, diseases, like CFS and FM, that are disproportionately more likely to affect women). From the fact that the term "neurasthenia" (aka "the vapors") - a term which the DSM itself tossed out years ago - is still being used in the UK to label CFS patients, to the woefully inadequate funding and research into diseases that have high populations of female patients, and how this would only contribute to the misuse of a CSSD coding.

I wish to be clear; Of course, for any person, chronically ill or not, there can be physical effects of psychological stress - You have only to suffer through one tension headache or witness a child so nervous that he loses his breakfast to know that this is true. But to state categorically that all of the symptoms of CFS patients (which can include sore throats, chronic infections, post-exertional fatigue, abdominal pain, unrefreshing sleep, irregular heartbeat, vertigo, muscle and joint pain, mental confusion, tender lymph nodes, allergies, night sweats, hypersensitivity to light, sound, smells, heat or cold, abdominal pain, blood pressure problems, and many, many more) can - definitively - be attributed to psychological factors, is to propose and support a falsehood.

I'd also like to refer you to a recent "Submission Re: DSM-V and ME/CFS" compiled by Professor Malcom Hooper and Margaret Williams of the 25% ME group (submitted 3-20-10) for an enlightening discussion about who would benefit from the inclusion of CFS as a CSSD, and the conflicts of interest evident in the DSM-V Somatic Symptom Disorder Work Group. (This work also includes a good summary of why the criteria are "so wide & non-specific that they have little clinical utility,"which I have already discussed.)

In conclusion, I urge you to consider the consequences of such an inaccurate and regressive inclusion - the potential for misuse/abuse/overuse of a non-specific coding for millions of affected patients; years of unhelpful and potentially dangerous drugs and therapies for patients who go to their physicians looking for answers; further & inhumane setbacks in the search for the real illness that is affecting these individuals, as well as the research that is necessary to find a cause, treatment & cure; and putting the DSM-V on the wrong side of medicine (and eventually, history).

I appreciate you taking the time to read my thoughts and concerns, and hope that you will take them into consideration as you make your final recommendations.

Sincerely, etc etc.

You can find the full criteria Here, as well as a link to where you can submit your own comments.

I did mention, right,

that I hate doctors?

So, you may remember that I was all on board train "face surgery" as much as any person could be anyways, when last we discussed it. Well, today I had some (unrelated) blood tests, and my liver came back SNAFU. My liver is like that - sometimes, it is fine and dandy, other times it grows things named after cartoon characters from the 1980s (Looking back, I realize that I was not actually writing this blog way back when I developed my hemangioma, which is pronounced exactly as it is spelled: He-Man-Ge-Oma, but that's what I am referring to). It has been labeled fatty (which hurt both our feelings), been ruled out as a donor organ, put on (and taken off of) various medications, and sends sudden, terrifyingly high bad cholesterol numbers to scare lab techs into making the doctor call me back on the very same day. Of course, the fact that those cholesterol numbers also drop dramatically every other time doesn't seem to bother them, but for right now, I'm supposed to be impressed that they are "startlingly high" for someone so young. (I'm not impressed, or bothered, and will just wait till next time before I panic, thank you very much.)

But aside from the cholesterol, my liver enzymes are elevated, which means ... what? Something. Maybe. Nothing? They are Not Sure. They want More Tests. They are Reviewing My Records. - Or, they will be doing all of that, they promise, when they return to the office in a Week and a Half. :sigh:

Which means the sinus surgery may have to be postponed, which I am not pleased about because, well, now that I am on board the train, I would like it to leave as soon as possible, so that I can get off of it as soon as possible. I do not like waiting. I do not like new problems to pop-up when I do not have the energy to deal with them. I do not need some new Skeletor to face, and I'd rather not have to deal with a recurrence of his arch-enemy either (Because, although all that that required was monitoring, liver ultrasounds - any ultrasounds - and me of the FM pain/tender body parts, do not get along well).

I'm just having the kind of the week where things seem to be crumbling/sucking no matter what I do... things that start off with the best of intentions are suddenly horrible and poisonous, and I have no idea where they went wrong or how to fix them.

So when the doctor - my primary care, whom I do not have much faith in at all - called and said "This is a problem. But I'm not going to be here to help you figure it out for two weeks", I wanted to dissolve into a puddle. I mean, I know, in my head, that there are things I can do - like calling the surgeon or Zack in that time, just so I know what their take on the whole thing is - but right now, all I want is for all the complications to Go Away.

Or, maybe I could go away: Where is Swift Wind when you need herhim?
(Did you know he was a he? I didn't.)

One of my favorite things

about Lil Girl is her singing. She's a singing fanatic. Picture an almost four year old who knows all the words to Bad Romance or Live Like We're Dying, and you've got a pretty good take on what kind of singing happens all the time around here. (We'll just pretend I don't have my own, hyper-judgemental issues about letting a four-year-old listen to Lady Gaga and move right along...)If there's anything more adorable than that little curly head bobbing back and forth, and little fingers twirling her Mr. Microphone as she belts out "You belong with MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE", with then I don't even want to know about. (Said in my best Mrs. Landingham voice.)

But there are a couple of complications - The fist being that she's infinitely more up to date in her song choices than I am... I listen to the radio with the specific goal of catching up on current songs so that I know what's coming out of her mouth half the time. (Although I also do my best to catch her up on a lot of music she wouldn't be otherwise exposed to - if you're 4 and not singing Disney songs, then I am sad for you - so there's definitely some overlap.)

And then there's the songs that I have no clue about - the ones she asks me to finish for her "Sad and on the dancefloor he left me there.... What's next, Auntie?" Um... I have no clue? I have never heard this song before. Or when there's some dance moves that she thinks I should know that go along with the song "When I say "Hope it brings you hell" you're supposed to do count like this:" she moves her fingers very slowly down from 5 to 0. O...k: why am I doing that again? "It's the way the song GOES AUNTIE!" Alrighty then, what do I know.

We've also made up our own routines: as a former dance teacher, it fills me with glee to see her hopping and toe pointing her way through a song. Although her favorite is just a Michael Buble cover of the song Hold On during which I have to try to sneak up on her and hold on to her every time he sings the words "Hold On". He sings those words a lot in that song. By the end, I am just pulling on her toe and trying to catch that, since the little bugger has a LOT more energy than her Auntie NTE.

Complicating the whole thing is the fact that she's not always clear on what the song is actually saying, but this is, by far, the best part of our singalongs.

A recent sampling of some slightly confused lyrics -

(In the interest of full disclosure, I will freely admit that, until I was a teenager, I thought the words to "Addicted to Love" ("Might as well face it... you're addicted to love.") were actually "Hyena's little faces you're addicted to love." I did not know why there would hyenas and their faces in the song, but it never occurred to me that I might be mishearing the lyrics until someone else sang the song with me and laughed their ass off when I sang the wrong words. Ah, 12 year-old girlfriends.)


From Eeeny Meeny Miney Moe, the perpetual help-me-choose song preferred by children of all ages: "Catch a tiger by the toe, if he liars" or, alternately, "if he lawyers let him go." True: If the tiger lawyers up, you've got to let him go - you aren't going to get anything out of him. Actual lyric: Hollers. Not a word in her vocabulary, I'm afraid.

From Hey, Soul Sister by Train: "Hey Soul Sister, ain't that Mister Licker on the radio, stereo, the way you move ain't fair you know." Obviously the correct lyrics of "Mister, Mister" would be a bit before her time, (as is stereo, come to think of it) so that's fine, but Mister Licker? I don't even want to know.

My current favorite is from the Lady Antebellum song, Need You Now which says that "I'm a little drunk, and I need you now". Her version: "It's a quarter after one and I'm a little trunk and I need you now." I actually giggled at this one, picturing a little suitcase siting out, abandoned, waiting for someone to pick it up. Also wonderful is her timing: the part where the sing "for me it happens all the time" has a little beat after it before the song starts up again, and she bops her head every. single. time.

Also heart tugging are the phrasings that she tangles up - adorably, IMO - so that "Romeo take me somewhere we can be alone" turns into "Romeo, take me, somewhere can we be alone."

These are like the last of her baby mispronunciations ("Yittle" has been fazed out over the course of the last 6 months or so, and that was one of my favorites), little blips in her road to growing up that I want to be able remember. The two of us, sitting on the floor in the dining room, her belting out a song about sad and lonely trunks, and me giggling along.

And then, 3:30 am rolled around

and I nearly burst into tears because the damn tape player (which is from 1993, you guys!) ate my HP tape, or something. It is playing, but silently. WTH?

And it takes me FORTY FIVE MINUTES to figure out that Lil Girl had turned the volume off after her song earlier, and that is why I can't hear anything.

Moment of accomplishment? Totally in the past.

Giving myself a sticker

It's been a long week. I don't actually know why it's been a long week (and I am getting so sick of saying "I don't know why", since it's how I feel about everything lately), but I am just plum worn down.

Some of it is physical, I'm sure... I'm sifting my way through a particularly bad cycle in my FM pain, due, in part at least, to the unending wetness and yo-yo like weather we've been experiencing here in Massachusetts (Wettest. March. Ever. Literally.).

Some of it's the exhaustion of yet another horrid and unexplainable stretch of total insomnia - as compared to the light-dosing/completely unrefreshing sleep I've been living off of for the past 10 years or so, bouts of total insomnia = days with no sleep at all. At ALL. Nights of repeatedly listening to the Harry Potter books on raggedy cassette tapes (Shut up: they were free), and getting the lovely voice of Jim Dale stuck in my head. (To the point that I sometimes imagine him doing a lilting British narration of my life, and somehow managing to make it seem interesting. "The bread was moldy, and, with a shiver and averted eyes, NTE briskly opened the cupboard and tossed it into the bin. 'No luck on sandwiches today, lovey,' she called, 'How about a nice crock of soup instead?'")

Some of it's emotional - trying to get used to the idea of my Face Surgery (that's what we're calling it here... capital letters required); still being computer-less; having a to-do list that's about 3/4 of a mile long; knowing that 5 of my closest college friends & a cousin-in-law are all pregnant right now, and I am not; failing yet another drug trial, the one that Zack was convinced was going to work; knowing we've been living here for a year (well, not me, I'm about 4 months behind because of My Summer With Grandmother {again, caps required}, but we've been out of the old house for a year anyways), and I am still about 1/5 unpacked: My clothes are in drawers and my books are on the shelves, everything else, all 30 years of my stuff, are still stored in boxes, waiting for me to shuffle through them.

Let's just say that I'm feeling a little behind the 8-ball lately, like I just can't catch up, and am barely able to do anything right.

But today, today I struck gold.

Today I had a moment so right that I wanted to sing, dance, clap, cheer, and give myself a sticker.

If you've been reading here for any length of time, you probably get the gist that Lil Girl is a wonderful, crafty, extremely bright, and terribly stubborn child. Self-willed will most likely be her major in college, and she will graduate with honors with that degree, even though the college doesn't offer "self-determination" as a legitimate option for degrees, because she will just wear down the administrators until they give it to her.

Stubborn as the day is long, that's our Lil Girl. (She also comes by it naturally, as our family tends to run a little towards the mule-side, but that's another post for another day.)

For today's post, you should also know that Lil Girl is sick. She's not a miserable kind of sick, but she's got an ear infection, and a cough, and she's been battling this off and on for at least 5 months. (I'm hoping her immune system is just reacting to her new school environment, and that she inherited her mama's genes there, because ours run to crappy.)

Anyways, to finish setting the scene: Sick, Stubborn Lil Girl. Who doesn't like to be told what to eat or drink on her best day. And now has to take a Rx medicine twice a day. To show how well this process has been going, I offer two examples:

Example A: My brother calls me two nights ago, Lil Girl is wailing in the background, and he says that after 25 minutes of fighting with her to take the medicine, (which included him trying to force her to take it physically), he is giving up. I try - completely in vain - to wave some sort of long-distance magic wand to help everybody calm down, but she winds up going to bed exhausted, crying, and medicine-less, and he very curtly tells me he's "done." I spent a good three hours fuming, post-phone call, wondering what the hell I was supposed to have been able to do from so far away.

Example B: When she arrived at our house this morning, Mum asked her if she had gel in her hair, because it was kind of crunchy (and because, if her mom is doing her hair while she gets ready for work, sometime Lil Girl insists on the full treatment as well). Her mother states that no, it's actually medicine that Lil Girl spit out this morning, but there was no time left to wash her hair.

So, if I tell you that Lil Girl took her medicine for me tonight, before she went home, with only a piece of hard candy (for post-medicine taste changing) and a one song of her choice soundtrack as encouragement, you will, perhaps understand why I wanted to commemorate the occasion with a post.

It's not such a huge thing, really, and it probably had a lot more to do with her than with me (if she had been in a different mood, I have no doubt there would have been a Very different outcome), but there was no fighting, no cajoling, & no controlling (on my part); no tears, no whining, & no feeling powerless (on hers). It was just a simple "This is what we have to do," and then it was done.

And, just for a moment, I felt as if I'd saved the world. Just because one Lil Girl swallowed two teaspoons of medicine without a fuss, I managed to feel just a second's worth of that "I can actually do this" feeling.

And I'll take every second's worth of that that I can get, wherever it comes from.